Under the Stars
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: Two young brothers, Alfred and Matthew, are lost in the forest. They have no one but each other to rely on in order to survive. Brotherly AmeCan.


"We're waifs."

"Huh?" Alfred looked up from his hands. Matthew sat before him, on a round, gray stone. His thin legs were pressed together, trembling slightly.

"It means we're strays." Matthew explained. He lifted the book in his hands. Its yellow pages were torn and spilling from the papery jacket.

"Oh, cool." Alfred nodded, returning his gaze to his hands. In his fists he held a sharp rock and a tree branch. He applied the rock against the tip, which gradually became more pointed. He grasped the end of the stick with his feet.

Neither boy had much to wear, save for the last items they had on their backs: fall apparel. Now their shoes were torn and falling apart. Their shirts were ripped and their sleeves rolled to the end, warm from the sun's daggers of heat.

Matthew shut the dictionary and set it inside a yellow backpack. He produced from its contents a radio transmitter. It was boxy and old, but still functional. Matthew set it on the rock and turned it on. Silence and static greeted him. He waited patiently for the sound of a human voice, the silence studded by the rasps of Alfred's stone. They grew erratic and impatient.

Alfred grunted. He set the spear down next to several others he had, and stuffed the rock in his pocket. He walked to the radio and turned it off. "Let's not waste the battery." He said.

"I had a feeling they would pick up on it today." Matthew said quietly.

"You say that every day."

"I think that every day."

Alfred was tempted to retort. He found he had no energy. Instead he went and checked on their belongings. Several fish hung from strings along the outside of their shelter. The cave, where rock had broken down to create a shallow room, enough to shade from the sun and rain, was the greatest thing that had happened to the boys. Alfred counted three fish, a pile of washed berries, and a box of energy bars from the emergency kit. The kit had first-aid, books, and everything else they could imagine. Still, Alfred knew it wouldn't last out. He started creating spears and testing them in the water.

One spear, the sharpest and longest of them, leaned against the far back of the wall. Alfred pulled his shirt off and set it on the ground. He picked up the spear and turned out of the cave. "We need more fish. If you get hungry, don't be afraid to eat." He said. Matthew looked up from something he was creating that was as of yet shapeless and utterly useless. He nodded curtly.

Alfred neared a heavy pine tree and squinted at the sky. Shredding pieces of bright blue sky hung between the green pines, glittering with yellow sunlight. Birds rustled in the topmost branches, their song spiraling through the forest. "We need to get out of here before winter, or else find someplace better. Did you mark today?"

"Yeah, it's still summer. We'll be fine for a few more months. I think they'll find us soon enough."

"I hope." Alfred added, without any amount of faith. He turned through the natural path, carrying the spear on his shoulder and picking up a piece of plastic on the way. He crossed a thicket of trees and shrubs. Several plants of poisoned berries tempted him. He knew all of them by heart. Once he saw a flash of red: a fox. He didn't worry. They didn't eat what wasn't yet dead. Alfred was tempted to whistle. He wetted his lips and pursed them, but only a dry, squeaking came forth. He drew a hand across his face, wishing he had his glasses back.

The path was short. It did not take long for him to reach the circular lake. Its surface glimmered dangerously. He perched on the brink, another taciturn rock. His eyes followed the scales of fish, like jewels. Their tails flicked complacently. They did not know humans. This was far from any camping or hunting site, therefore lowering the chances the boys had of rescue. Alfred nearly drowned in his thoughts. A fat, sleepy fish flashed before him before he could, pulling him from the waters of his mind. He raised the spear and stabbed down, just where it was going to be and slightly off-center. Alfred raised the spear, feeling wait, and seeing blood run through the clear waters and stain the sand. On the end of his stick was not a fat, juicy fish but a tiny, bony one. Alfred frowned and looked back in. He couldn't find the fat one again. Maybe it had been an illusion.

Alfred placed the fish on the piece of plastic. Its blood tricked down the side. He didn't catch any more fish. He returned to their shelter. Matthew was placing sticks for a fire. Alfred gutted the fish while Matthew took a lighter to the dry twigs. Evening began to bleed into day, stealing away the sunlight and replacing it with moonlight. By the time Alfred placed several strips of fish to cook over the fire Matthew started, the stars had already scattered across the empyrean.

Matthew chewed, like a pensive cow, and gazed skywards.

"You never see stars like that at home." Alfred said, rubbing his cheeks with his wrist.

"It's because of light pollution. The city lights cut off the lights from the stars." Matthew responded. He took another slim slice of fish and chewed it. Then he took a sip from the water bottle the two would share that evening. Usually they drank from the lake, but at dinner time Alfred allowed a pint for the two. Matthew ran his tongue across his lips, a baby pink snake creeping around chapped, dry clay.

Alfred said nothing. He regarded his twelve year old brother, two years his junior, in a mix of melancholy and annoyance. He couldn't explain the reasons for either. Crickets burst into song. Unlike their neighborhood in the suburbs, when it went dead silent at night, the forest burst to life, continuing an incessant cycle. Those that slept in the day awakened. They hunted their prey. Owls didn't venture near the boys, for fear of fire.

"Maybe every ten days we have a day to rest." Alfred said. "It can start now. Ten days from now we'll make sure we have enough supplies and rest. We can't be stressed for too long or something like that. We aren't lost in the sea or anything."

"That's a good idea." Matthew agreed. In the fire his eyes turned golden.

A scuffling sounded from the forest. Matthew and Alfred tensed, staring at each other. Alfred clutched a knife in his hands. The handle turned moist with his sweat. Matthew's cheeks paled. The rustling continued. It could have been a large animal, but even those hated the sight of burning fire. It could have been a human, which meant either extreme fortune or extreme misfortune. The scuffling ceased suddenly, then, like a song recovering from a moment of silence, returned. Alfred and Matthew peered at the source. When they noticed who it was, they relaxed. Two rabbits were quarreling, biting, and tearing at each other. They fought and slowly distanced themselves from the shelter. Eventually they had created a good distance.

Alfred relaxed and returned to their conversation, already forgetting the scare. It would do no good to hold old terrors when new ones were inevitable in their coming.

"Damn, if that bus hadn't crashed." Alfred said nostalgically.

The two were on a school field trip to a camping site, at the base of a mountain. The brothers shouldn't have been in the same class, but Matthew's insane brain power had accelerated his grade level. Alfred was ashamed of his brother, for no reason, and sat a good distance away. Matthew sat alone in the back, holding his backpack close to him. Alfred didn't even chance a glance at him. The bus trundled along, hopping occasionally, and causing the children to squeal in glee.

Matthew stared at the back of his brother's blond head, hoping he would turn and grin at him, like he used to. It didn't happen and he returned to his self. The ride continued to grow more erratic. Someone called a jargon out at the bus driver, who gave only a meek grunt in reply. They were following a crowded road. A car in the front was precariously wobbling, as if the driver was indecisive, and stopped. The bus attempted to move out of the way, rushing straight into the forest along the side. The children screamed.

The following memories were a blur of white. Matthew remembered rushing out of the car, following several others. Rocks tumbled down on the yellow vehicle, crushing whoever remained inside. The children outside of the bus cried and screamed. Matthew stumbled to the back of the crowd, where his brother enveloped him in his arms. Alfred gestured for Matthew to follow. They went down a hiking path. Alfred had his backpack, where their mother had placed several bottles of water and snacks. A girl and boy followed the two, knowing that Alfred had been a boy scout nearly his entire life and knew the outdoors well. Alfred tried to find the main road but couldn't. He was becoming afraid, Matthew knew, but the children followed him regardless.

"I think it's a good thing it crashed." Matthew said boldly, staring through the tongues of flame at his brother's curious expression.

"A lot of kids died there. They just started high school, too. I wonder what mom's doing…" Alfred said. Newspaper must have soaked up the story. Surely some must have noted that not all the children's bodies were discovered dead. Their mother must have received notice that her boys were not gone, at least not officially.

Matthew heaved a sigh, his nostrils dilating. "Yes, that's bad, but it's good for us. You would have kept ignoring me if that hadn't happened."

Not knowing what to say, Alfred turned his eyes on the flickering embers.

After the bus crashed, Alfred and his three followers must have hiked for hours. Night had fallen and they hadn't found the road. The girl trembled and vomited. The boy watched her in horror and sadness. Alfred approached her, trying to find the issue. He bent down and felt her temperature through her black bangs. He eyes glistened. Alfred looked into the vomit to see if there were berries. Instead he found a pool of blood. The girl retched again, blood gushing from her. She had hit her head when the car crashed. The boy remained with her until she died shortly after. Matthew didn't watch. Alfred could only grunt an apology. Now three boys were left, alone, lost, and utterly hopeless.

They trekked through the forest, unknowingly veering further and further from the road, where they could have been rescued. Police and ambulance sirens wailed. The sounds were swallowed by the forest and the children never heard.

The boy was called Xavier. He was a well-built, clever young man a few months from being fourteen, just behind Alfred. He had bright blue eyes and hair black as soot, like the girl. He took the girl's death the hardest. He wished he knew her name. The group wasn't that large, but three buses had to be used and the children were mixed and torn away from their friends. Xavier that night lamented, wishing he had at least known her name so he could have carved it in a tree where they had placed her body. There was no time to bury her.

Xavier remained with them even when they found the shelter among the rocks, with a survival kit left there since only five years previous. The woodlands of Canada had hosted a multitude of survival tales, Alfred surmised, crying from glee as he picked up the parcel and showed it to Xavier and Matthew, who were washing by the lake. Xavier hooted in glee. Matthew offered a tiny smile.

Alfred looked from the fire to the rock next to it, like an empty chair at a dinner table. Xavier sat there before. Matthew noticed this.

"You're thinking of him, aren't you?"

Alfred nodded.

Matthew pressed his lips together. "I was too."

Three days before Alfred began to take their survival seriously and fashion his first spear, Xavier was nowhere to be found. Alfred returned after exploring their surroundings to find Matthew sitting alone. Xavier had been tending to a cut on his wrist from the morning. Alfred asked Matthew where he was. Matthew's eyes were wide and wet with tears. Alfred's heart thundered. He asked again, yelling loud enough to scare the small animals out of their hiding places.

"Why didn't you tell me what happened?" Alfred asked, still staring at the vacant space.

"I was afraid." Matthew responded, tearing his eyes away from the fire and directing them heavenwards again.

Alfred found out that Xavier had gone to run after a roll of adhesive that had fallen and rolled away from him. As he rushed through the forest, he recklessly stuck his hands into a bush and became victim to a snake's lethal bite. He yelled in pain. Alfred heard the sound and ran after him. Xavier's arm swelled and became dark, sickly. In panic they sucked the venom out. Still it looked incurable.

"What do they do?" Alfred said to where Xavier should have been. "I was so stupid. Movies don't apply in real life."

They amputated Xavier's arm, thinking it would be fine. The trauma and bloodless, along with a dose of gangrene, killed him the following night. Again they couldn't bury him well. Alfred grabbed a knife from the kit and carved his name on to the bark of tree, tears streaming down his cheeks and running tracks through dirt. He was guilt and ashamed. He cried that night, begging for his mother to return. And yet, the following morning, Alfred was filled with a longing to live. He fashioned weapons and taught himself how to hunt. He was determined to save his brother, if not himself.

Alfred stood and walked around the fire. He hugged Matthew tightly. They both smelled bad, but neither noticed.

"I'm sorry, Matthew." Alfred said. "Go to sleep. I'll take the first watch."

Matthew agreed, feeling like he would faint at any moment. He went to the end of the shelter and took a jacket he had worn earlier and bundled it into a pillow. He reclined against the wall, heedless of spiders or any other creepy crawlies that no longer held any meaning. Now the danger was bears and wolves.

Alfred took his new spear and continued to sharpen its tip. Once he finished he moved on to his older spears and cleaned them up. He took his shoes off and pressed the soles of his feet to the naked earth, feeling its spirit rising like the tide and flooding him. The sky and earth no longer felt far apart. He felt connected. He closed his eyes and allowed a brief image of their mother, a beautiful woman with ovular brown features and dark hair, to flit by. He opened his eyes, further comforted.

He sat there until what he assumed the right amount of time passed (hours and minutes meant nothing) and readied himself to wake Matthew up. He turned and found his brother peacefully dormant. His long eyelashes struck his round cheeks. His lips were content and his chest rose and fell slowly. One hand was on his side, the fingers spread apart but not tense. Alfred caught himself grinning.

"…hello?"

Alfred started, his heart soaring to his throat. He looked around. Nothing but forest greeted him. Maybe it was his imagination, he thought, and returned to his work, but kept most of his attention to his surroundings.

"…hello…!"

Alfred panicked again. He stood and traced the surroundings, his bare feet grazing the grass. He returned to his seat, his heart wary. He kept his head up this time, waiting. No sound approached, nothing broke the noisy silence of the forest. Alfred gripped the edge of the rock he sat on. His fingers turned white.

"Hello. Is anyone there?"

Alfred looked at the backpack against Matthew's prior seat. He walked to it, his breaths coming in short gasps. He bent before the pack and pulled it open. The radio sat there, waiting.

"I repeat, is anyone there?"

The sound was definitely coming from the radio. Alfred picked it up, holding the red cube in his palms. The savior had come. He could run away, finally, and rejoin his mother. He looked at Matthew, ready to wake him, and his elation dropped dead.

If he replied, their lives would, after an interval, return mostly to normal. He would be popular, for sure, but the same Alfred. Minor differences would erupt on the skin of their lives, but the organ remained the same. Alfred would continue to ignore Matthew and forget the fragility of human life. He would forget the sounds of the forest, he would forget the look of the stars, he would forget how easy it was to lose a friend. Alfred bit his lip. Still, he didn't have to suffer for every meal.

He held the radio in his hands and, under the starry sky, made his decision.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia._


End file.
